With the Shattered Glass
by Nicole the Vampiress
Summary: Erik kills Raoul in a fight.  Christine knows this and is horrified, but Erik will not let her go, afraid she'll go to the police, afraid she'll leave him forever.  Can Christine forgive Erik? Can they both forget the darkness of their shared past?


**Disclaimer: POTO isn't mine. I'm sure that's quite obvious.**

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"I am not a monster," he whispered softly. "I am _not _a monster."

The mirror reflected a man whose face was contorted in anguish, twisting the scars of his face so that they were all the more defined. Tears rapidly slid down, finding their way into the hollows of his mask.

Slowly, his hand reached up to touch it—the mask on his face—and his fingers lightly traced the curves that made it fit so well. Its curvatures dipped and hugged his flesh, almost seeming to mold into him, so that the mask was a part of him.

The man ripped the mask from his face and flung it to the ground. With clenched fists, he smashed against the mirror, banging and sobbing until he was drained of all will to do anything more. He sank to the ground, his hands clawing at his face, letting out a moan.

A strangled noise came from behind him. Quivering suddenly, he screamed, "I AM NOT A MONSTER!" With enormous force, he flung the mirror towards the source of the tortured sound. There was a crash as the glass shattered. Blood dripped down his hands. What had he done?

Any sense of calm in the man—the very little he had achieved in his wretched contemplation, his state of quiet moaning—was shattered with the break of the glass. His body began trembling with renewed cries of anguish. His thoughts were wild; he could not make sense of anything. He saw the blood on his hands; he saw the knife that had fallen to the floor with the most delicate ring. Yet, every time he tried to remember, his memory would betray him, his mind straying to his present emotions. All he could hear was the knife hitting the ground, over and over again.

Then, suddenly, the knife came down with a crash. He looked up to find Madame Giry staring at Raoul's body, slumped against the wall where he had died, Christine's still form, sprawled on the ground amidst broken glass. Then slowly, Madame Giry looked to the man and met his eyes. For what seemed like a long while, she said nothing, asked nothing, her face white, her eyes fixed upon him. In _his_ eyes she seemed to find all the answer she needed. In hers, he could see only darkness.

"You killed them," she breathed. More loudly, she repeated, "You killed them. You killed them. You killed them!" The last bit she nearly screamed, hysterical in her horror and anger.

The man could no longer meet her gaze. He let his head fall, to stare at the ground. He began to moan, "No, no, no."

Madame Giry's gaze did not falter. "So you didn't? You didn't kill them?" Her voice was tight, angry.

Just at that moment, a groan escaped Christine's lips, bloodied by shards of glass. Madame Giry's head snapped down to Christine. Her anger diminishing, she cried, "Oh, thank God!" She crouched down beside Christine, touching her hand, stroking her hair. "Erik." Like a flickering candle whose flame bends and seems to go out, reviving as strong as before, her voice was cold again, her warmth spent as she let go of Christine's hand. "Help me get her to a bed. Find bandages. Fetch warm water."

Erik stared at Christine. Her bloody condition did nothing to help his state of mind. In a choked voice he asked, "What have I done to her? What have I _done_?" His voice sounded so innocent then, so young and fragile, the voice of a boy who wanted to be told there were no monsters lurking in the darkness. It was as if he expected an answer, a voice to tell him he had done nothing wrong.

No flood of pity rushed upon Madame Giry. She was not composed enough to let herself feel the emotions. If she let them be, they would take hold of her. But now, Christine needed her. Erik's emotions and her own could wait another day. With an authority she did not feel, she said, "_Now._ Christine may yet be saved, if we stop the bleeding."

Erik could barely take command of his own voice now. "Is she hurt very badly?"

"There is a large gash on the side of her head and several other wounds. It was the glass." Madame Giry then did something she did not expect herself to do. "Perhaps," she allowed, "it was an accident."

Erik stood, breathing heavily as if from the exertion of standing. "No. No, I threw it."

She sighed and glanced at Raoul. "And him?"

Erik looked at her with tormented eyes, but all he said was: "I shall be back soon." He turned, then, and left.


End file.
